Their story had never been meant to last.
Time would dull the pain, and slowly, inevitably, she would forget about the Megarian prince who’d stolen her heart.
Now she would throw herself into the path ahead: into training with Phoebe and becoming the Omega. But first, she needed answers.
As the first light of dawn brushed the mountaintop, Alena slipped out of the hut. The sanctuary was still and quiet, the cold air biting her skin as she wandered past stone huts and grazing goats. A larger structure stood apart from the others, built from darker stone and partially sunken into the slope.
After a moment’s hesitation, she approached it, pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into cool, shadowed silence.
Inside, the space opened into a grotto. At the far end, a stone altar was draped in wildflowers. Before it, a fire burned low in a circular pit, ringed by worn stones. The flickering light danced across the damp walls.
It was a temple with a sacred fire at its heart, just like the ones her father had written about in his scrolls—meant to welcome the gods.
A lone priestess in a grey, fur-lined cloak knelt on a rug, tending the flames.
“It burns day and night,” a voice said from behind.
Alena spun, startled.
An older woman stood just inside the doorway, wrapped in a deep blue peplos, its folds elegant and precise despite the rugged setting. A thick fur mantle rested on her shoulders, her presence calm, almost regal.
Alena’s curiosity overrode her unease. “What happens if it goes out?”
The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Then there’s no fire to keep us warm.”
Alena blinked—then smiled. It wasn’t the answer she’d expected.
“Worship is a curious thing.” The woman stepped closer, strands of silver woven through her coarse, dark hair, catching the firelight. “Over the years, priests have added rituals, offerings, incense, and chants—all in the hope of getting closer to the gods. But that’s not how it works.”
Her light-grey eyes, piercing as a winter sky, fixed on Alena. “The gods don’t dwell in temples. They dwell in belief. The more worship they receive—prayers, sacrifices—the more powerful they become.”
Alena studied her. “How do you know all this?”
The stranger’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I know many things, daughter of Kallinos.”
Alena stiffened. She hadn’t heard the name in a long time. In the Western Lands, she’d been called the Rebel Queen’s daughter, as if Kallinos had never existed. But here, in Achaea, her father’s name still lived.
Kallinos—the Gifted hero sent by the Achaean League to secure an alliance with the Rebel Queen, and who’d become her lover.
Alena narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
The woman gestured to the doors. “Walk with me.”
They stepped into the blinding morning light. Snow blanketed the stone paths in a smooth, unbroken sheet, and the air bit at Alena’s cheek. The stranger led her past jagged slate rocks to a high ridge overlooking the sanctuary. Golden eagles wheeled above, their cries distant and sharp.
Then everything stilled.
No wind. No birdsong. Only the suddenthudof Alena’s heart.
The air thickened with magic, pressing against her senses. Power radiated from the woman before her. Her peplos stirred despite the stillness; her silver-streaked hair deepened to richwalnut waves, and her eyes sparked with the fury and beauty of a rising tempest.
Alena’s breath caught, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of it.
“You’re…” The words stuck in her throat. “You’re the Grey-Eyed Maiden.”
She started to kneel, but the goddess stopped her with a gentle touch.
“Do not be afraid.” Her voice was like a whisper on the wind, ancient and intimate at once. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Alena. From the moment your mother journeyed east in search of the Amazons and stumbled upon a forgotten temple in the ruins of old Smyrna. In desperation, she sacrificed a goat and prayed all night, thinking she was calling to a local goddess of childbirth. In truth, her cries reached someone far older.”
